Starbucks
by Hotarukun
Summary: Neal tries to run again. Peter intervenes. Fluff/Friendship.


**AN: This is mostly just…conversation, I just realized. And I left it kind of detached for a reason. I know Neal and Peter are getting to be good friends, but I still think they'll have problems reading each other. I also see Neal, especially right now, as this emotionally fragile person. I believe a part of him may be kind of lost right now…which would explain the uncharacteristic idea of Starbucks. Enjoy!**

**Starbucks**

Agent Peter Burke strode hurriedly into the overpriced New York café. His senses were immediately assaulted with the smell of coffee, caramel and sweetly baked goods. It was stuffy and overbearing and almost claustrophobic. Peter scanned each table, wondering why, of all places, Neal Caffrey had chosen _this _place.

He quickly spotted the familiar fedora peeking over the top of an open newspaper. He rolled his eyes.

Peter rapped on the table with his knuckles and Neal put down the paper with a sigh. "Not exactly your usual hangout, Sinatra."

Neal shrugged indifferently. "I wanted to try the coffee."

"And how is it?"

"Absolutely terrible. I bought you some…caramel macchiato though. You should try it."

Peter slid into the chair opposite the conman and did his best to ignore the teenage girls chatting animatedly behind them. He found it odd he was more annoyed with _them _at the present moment than he was with Neal. "So where is it? Back at your apartment?"

Neal reached down into a bag beside him to pull out the tracking anklet. "Right here." He dropped it back down into what Peter assumed was his initial getaway bag. He looked tired. Peter was having a hard time with that—an exhausted, haunted-looking Neal. He sighed more than he laughed and his hands shook more than he smiled.

Peter watched his friend for a moment but Neal was staring at the table, blue eyes narrow, either waiting for his lecture or reliving the incident that had created such shadows under his usually alive eyes. "Try your coffee," he said abruptly.

Peter took a sip without thinking about it. He winced. "God, that's awful."

Neal quirked a small smile in agreement but didn't look up or say anything else.

Peter was silent a moment longer but finally decided he couldn't stand it. He felt old confusion returning that came with misunderstanding the inner-workings of Neal Caffrey's mind. "Neal, help me understand you on this." The other man looked up in surprise, clearly expecting a different opening line. "You told me you didn't want to run anymore. And here we are again. You somehow manage to get your new, shiny, very expensive anklet off—" Neal opened his mouth but Peter cut him off with an I-don't-want-to-know look. "And you end up here of all places." The agent looked around him with disgust, lip curled. "Starbucks," he stated.

Neal shook his head. "I wanted to leave, but I stopped myself."

Peter leaned forward, impatience and frustration leaking from his every pore. "_Then why did you leave?_"

"Did you see what they did to Kate?" The slightly hysterical note in Neal's voice made Peter jump back. "What if that happened to Mozz, or Alex, or Diana or Elizabeth or _you_?" He shook his head, lost for the rest of what he was trying to convey. He could finally see how much Neal had been torturing himself beneath the surface. "I was trying to protect you guys."

Peter slammed his fist on the table and the coffees shook. The teenage girls behind them turned to stare and whisper. "Neal, that's bull. You're doing it to protect _yourself_."

Neal glared. "Peter—"

"No, you're not running because of Kate and your guilt or for some noble deed. You are scared, Neal."

"Scared that someone will come after you when they come after me," he added calmly but Peter shook his head.

"No, you're scared for you. You've been this attachment-free guy and now you're panicking because you're getting too comfortable."

Neal smiled and spread out his hands. "Peter, that doesn't make any sense."

The other man clenched his jaw and then tried for another tactic. "What does the word 'home' mean to you?"

Neal snorted. "C'mon."

"Answer the question, Neal," he commanded in his best grating tone.

Neal looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "I don't know…home…hm…"

"Neal."

"I'm thinking."

"_Neal_."

"I don't know! A place…a place where everyone accepts your faults and you don't have to be somebody else. Just you." He paused and glanced at Peter who was watching him silently, letting him speak. "And where you protect each other." He shifted. "I guess."

Peter folded his hands in front of him. "Neal, you know what I said last time this happened…" Neal closed his eyes at the memory and Peter felt a stab of guilt. "I still mean every word," he quickly added. "I just have this gut feeling at this is where you belong." He looked at him beseechingly. "Don't you?"

Neal averted his eyes and swallowed. "Your house…has way better coffee."

Peter squinted and then finally smirked. "It does. Let's go home and get some. I have to reattach that damn anklet anyways."

The 30-something sat up straighter and grinned proudly. "It's a lot harder to get off than the other one, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't matter if you still managed to get it off."

Neal snickered and threw out their cups, only realized then that Peter had said "Let's go home."

Neal gripped the broken anklet in his lap the whole way back. It was a small price to pay for the rewards he held close.


End file.
